Pictures
by Katraa
Summary: Pictures are moments captured in time, frozen moments of time, actually. Pictures like these were not meant to be taken, or shared. But for some reason, it helped. [oneshot][ riku × zexion ] [ angst ]


_**Dedication:** constance greene  
**Author's Note:**_ _Pairing I would have never thought about if it hadn't been for her ;D Heres your holiday drabble. I hope it is not too... angsty o.o; I was in one of those moods where the idea came and I pursued it. Heh... yeah, this is new to me. Anyway, enjoy :3

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_**P** i c t u r e s_

Hanging loosely on the wall was single matted picture. The frame itself was dilapidated, showing its age. The wall itself was painted a faint tan color, almost beige. The paint itself was cracking, showing a plain white wall behind it. Within the frame that seemed to on its last legs was a single photograph. Taken by a Kodak Sun Six-Hundred Sixty, The finest model make of that time, no doubt. Vehement colors swirled across the picture, capturing the attention of one's eyes within seconds of glancing that way.

A picture was a moment captured in time. It was like everything came to a stand still when the camera's shutter flashed closed, taking in the scene at hand. When that had been completed, you were left with a freeze-caption of that time, whether it is humorous, melancholic, or the worst day of your life. Which was just the case for Riku.

Glassy green orbs starred impassively at the wall. The muffled ticking and tocking of a clock a room away was the only sound in the lonely silence. The figure's face was a complete pale tone. Refined lips were tightly formed into a poignant scowl. There was more gloom than anger in the look. Strands of silver hair caressed down onto the male's shoulders. Upon his body was a black jacket, and a noticeable black, tiny, heart etched upon the croon of his neck.

If one did not know better, one could say that the male sitting in the chair, starring at the photograph was also frozen. However, the occasional sigh disproved that theory. The male was not frozen at all, just shocked, hurt, and lost in his own thoughts. Thoughts of a better place, thoughts of _him_.

It had been a year exactly, to this day that he had lost him. It was in the dead of a hazadorous blizzard. Zexion, being the dare-devil and naïve ass he was, had shrugged off the forecast, figuring that the prognosis was wrong, as it usually was, and would go for a ride. Who knew that taking a simple, safe, and enjoyable ride on his motorcycle would be the death of him yet.

Riku had not taken it well at all. Words fell from his angered lips like the condescending snow would fall from the sky. He swore the sky was _mocking_ him, _laughing _at him, _punishing _him for loving him the way he did. It was as if all those words he had spoken to him were never said. All those embraces, all those nights were gone, and had never existed.

Unlike that photo that hung on the wall in front of him. That picture was real, that moment was real, and he had proof. This was not what Christmas was supposed to be like. Christmas was supposed to be filled with senseless joy and exultant people running about. This, however, was hell. Absolute hell.

Riku rose from his seat, memories of the deceased Zexion running through his mind. It was like he could still taste the other's lips, that cold and bitter taste that only added to the lust, only wanted him to want _more_. It was almost as if he could see that seductive grin on the other's face, the one that drove him nuts. Riku knew as well as Zexion did that even if they did bicker, they meant well. Two headstrong males was the perfect match, no matter what anyone said.

Riku's hands extended from his side to gently run a finger across the photograph. Upon it was the face he missed so dearly, and loathed so much. He had caused this pain for Riku, and he would never forgive him, even if he _did_ love him. No one was allowed to break his heart, especially the way Zexion had.

A small murmur passed Riku's lips as he turned his back to the photograph, fists clenched by his side. "I fucking miss you, you ass…" The words slipped from his lips as he left the room, hand unknowingly touching the black-tattooed heart upon his neck, wishing that this was all a sinister and cruel joke.

Pictures are meant to be captured moments of time, reminders of better times. Sometimes they are, and sometimes they are not. However, pictures like this one, were never meant to be taken. Pictures of the one you loved, dead… defenseless, at the scene of the crime, bleeding… were not meant to be taken and hung up on your wall on Christmas. But it helped. In Riku's now sick and twisted, hurt, mind, it helped ease the pain, and he would be damned if he had it any other way.


End file.
